At the Unveiling of the World
by Kyndred.Raven
Summary: She was Hanal'ghilan, the golden halla - bearer, bringer, and seeker of truth. Her bottomless green eyes saw him as he was, setting a precedent in the fear they set ablaze within his heart. She would be his undoing, yet the longer he struggled against his growing fascination with her, the more he understood that he would never be able to escape. Nor did he truly want to.
1. The One Who Waits: Part I

**Full Summary:**

Faerynrae Lavellan: Orders from a Clan that shunned her brought her to the edge of the Conclave. Curiosity kept her there, as did a sinking feeling that something terrible crept in its shadow. In truth, she wanted nothing to do with humans and their petty arguments. All she yearned for was to live out her life in in quiet solitude within her beloved forest. But, it was not to be, for from the first moment that she met the mysterious elf with sorrowful blue eyes, she knew her life would never be the same.

The Hedge Mage: He knew she was Hanal'ghilan, the golden halla - bearer, bringer, and seeker of truth. Time had erased the true meaning of her rare gift, but he had not forgotten. Her bottomless green eyes saw him as he was, setting a precedent in the fear they set ablaze within his heart. She would be his undoing, yet the longer he struggled against his growing fascination with her, the more he understood that he would never be able to escape. Nor did he truly want to.

 _[Solas/Fen'Harel x Lavellan with some Cullen x Lavellan]_

 _[Updated every Fri/Saturday]_

A compendium/collection of shorts/stories (1-3 chapters a piece) taking place chronologically taking place chronologically from the Conclave to the confrontation with Corypheus with plenty of romance, drama, action/adventure, fluff, and heartache. Cannon situations and timelines will be changed, tweaked, and challenged.

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 **Please read. Warning Tags and Disclaimers:**

This story is currently rated T, but that rating may change in future chapters. Should content be written that exceeds the normal rating limits of this site, I will provide a link to the uncut chapter on Archive of Our Own. You can also find this story there anytime.

Tags that may be pertinent to mention: _Spoilers, descriptive violence, dark themes, strong language, sexual themes, and General-Angst-That-Comes-From-Solavellan-Hell_

I've written this as a lighter counterpart/prequel to Pulchra Tenebris. The stories here are tales of events that led up to the beginning of that fanfiction.

Your comments and support are truly appreciated and make all of my hard work and long hours worthwhile.

If you have a moment, please drop me a line and let me know if you are enjoying the read :)

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 **At the Unveiling of the World**

 **Story I**

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 **The One Who Waits, and the One Who is Awaited**

 **Part I**

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That night, it was with great caution that the halla walked through the dry leaves and dark brown pine needles covering the forest floor. She made no sound, her passage as silent as a stray breeze. The night wrapped its pitch black arms around her, and she squinted through the darkness, looking for potential threats. The colossal pines gave her shelter and hid her well enough, but her white coat and golden hooves and horns would be a dead giveaway if she wasn't careful. Thoughts of her purpose for being here fluttered through her mind with the inconstancy of flighty butterflies. A plethora of sights and sounds fought to win over her attention, and she struggled to stay focused.

In a haze, she wondered if she should have chosen to stalk her territory as a panther or mountain lion instead. Their vision and senses may have served her purpose better. Concentrating on a single goal in the body of a predator was somehow easier than trying to do the same as a deer or rabbit. As was seeing in the dark. As it stood, the halla relied on the light far ahead as her only guide to her destination. It blazed in the form of a thousand scintillating orbs, reminding her of fireflies settling in the wood during spring. She recognized these lights as flickering torches and fires. Approaching the outskirts of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, she scented roasting meat and heard deep throaty laughter.

Her body ducked down on instinct.

Humans.

Worried about being seen, she looked around until she found an out of sight hilltop where she could observe the _shemlen_ without them noticing. The bridge of her nose wrinkled. Her nostrils flared and her ears flicked forward, her short white tail swaying from side to side. If it wasn't for Keeper Deshanna's _request_ , she would never have come so close to a human encampment. They were a selfish, ignorant, and violent race who took what they wished whenever they wished it. They paid no heed to the toll their supposed faith and their endless ambition took upon the lands. Her hatred for them took second place only to her disdain for her Clan.

Shunned and alienated yet tied to her people by a thread of duty, she'd grown up on the edges of acceptance, looking in and wishing she could experience the bonds of fellowship and love her supposed family shared. To those same people, however, she was nothing but an omen. They feared her gift yet hesitated to throw her out of the Clan out of a misguided fear of angering their gods. She held no status among them, for she was neither First nor a hunter or healer. She was simply Faerynrae, a thorn in their side who ran errands like this when no one else would take up the mantle of responsibility. They'd never sent her so far from their lands before. Perhaps they hoped she'd perish on the journey.

As she climbed the hill, the halla struggled to remember why they disliked her so. Pictures of angry faces swam in her mind. Words were there, too, full of anger and insults. She'd been in this body for many days, and with each passing sunset, remembering the emotions and dillemas of her human form grew more and more difficult. How much time had passed since the Keeper had first approached her with her request? The halla couldn't recall. It could have been days or weeks. Not that it mattered, really. She loved this body. It felt more natural than her own. All she needed was to see what the humans were up to. There was no rush to do so, and no one would expect her to return for quite a while.

The grass beneath her hooves smelled delightful, but she resisted the temptation to graze just yet. Hopping up the rocks of the shifting terrain, the halla reached the top of the hill, keeping her body hidden behind the broad leaves of bushes and thick bodies of oaks and pines. She peered down, her soft green eyes taking in the sight below her. The humans numbered in the hundreds. They'd set up tents and campfires that stretched in a wide circular area around the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Some wore armor with the Templar crest while others wearing mage robes shivered in the evening chill, their bodies vulnerable to the elements. Some laughed and clapped each other the back while others stared each other down with thinly veiled hatred.

 _They_ _'re waiting for something,_ the halla thought. _But what could that something be?_

Mages and Templars sitting together in such tight proximity? Something about that felt wrong. She tried to understand what it was that bothered her about this, but the information was out of reach, buried too deep in the memories of her human form. Curious about the situation, the halla tilted her head to the side and moved a little closer to the edge of hill. Her ears shifted farther forward, straining to hear what the humans talked about. It took some maneuvering and time to find a place that would allow her to remain hidden while still leaving room for eavesdropping.

"This is crazy," one of the Templars at the closest campfire said. "Nothing good is going to come of these so-called peace talks." His eyes glinted with warning. "Keep your weapon close, and sleep with one eye open."

"We should trust in the Divine," his companion joined in. They sat close together, their helmets leaning up against their sides and their swords within arm's reach.

"There's a reason we left the Chantry," the first one frowned.

The halla crept closer.

"You're right, but independence isn't as good as we all expected. We left to stop the mage rebellion, but even you have to agree that killing each other is getting us nowhere. Let's pray the Divine can do something about it. I hope this is going to be worth the trip."

"My blood boils," the first man hissed. The fire in his eyes intensified, his head turning to look at the camp closest to them where three men and women in violet robes slumbered close to their fire. "Sitting so close to all of these mages…these _abominations_ …I don't want to sleep at all tonight."

"Relax," the second man chided, slapping the back of his hand against his friend's shoulder. "Even if they attack us, there's plenty of Templars around to give them one hell of a fight."

 _Mages and Templars. They're m_ _ortal enemies,_ the halla recalled.

Was this the reason the Keeper wanted her to investigate this place? It _was_ rather odd that these two factions weren't immediately at each other's throats, and even though the Dalish kept to themselves, a human gathering of this magnitude might pose a threat. So, what were they all doing here? Last she'd heard, the humans were discussing something called the Conclave. She had no knowledge of its purpose, only that it was meant to bring peace to the turmoil that the events in Kirkwall had started. She tried to make sense of other memories her human self possessed, but could only remember that the thing called the Conclave was supposed to happen here at the Temple. Keeper Deshanna had mentioned something else, too — a threat of some kind.

She wanted to think on it further, but something cut into her musings. A gust of wind slipped past her, rustling nearby leaves and wafting the enticing scent of fresh grass to her nostrils. Her belly complained of her neglect in a quiet murmur. She'd been traveling most of the day, taking little time to rest or graze and stopping to take shelter only when the rains came down too hard. Pulling her eyes away the Templars for the moment, she bent her head and nuzzled a nearby bush, using her velvety lips to pull a few leaves into her mouth. They tasted divine after a long and arduous journey.

Completely distracted, the halla forgot to watch her footing. When she leaned over to the bush to pluck some berries from it, a handful of earth and stone shifted and crumbled beneath her hooves, falling to the encampments bellow.

"Hey," one of the Templars barked out, "did you hear that?"

The halla froze in in place.

"Yeah," the second man said, reaching for the sword at his side. They both got to their feet, slow and wary. Their eyes scanned their surroundings. At one point, the first man's gaze landed directly on her. He glared at the spot where she stood for a moment before moving on.

"I sense magic," the first man told his friend, jumping when the latter grabbed his arm.

"Shh!" the second hissed. "Don't move."

"What is it?" the first man asked, his eyes darting around the edges of the forest once more.

"Look…it's one of those elven beasts." Horrified, the halla watched as the second man raised his hand and pointed right to her. "I've heard their meat is tender and delicious. No, not that way. Look _there_." The first man's gaze finally caught hers. This time, he wasn't just staring at the trees. He _saw_ her, and she didn't like the sudden hunger that lit up those filthy _shemlen_ eyes.

"It's so close," he said, his voice lowering to a whisper. "Maker's breath, look at those horns."

"Gold as the sun," the second man smiled. "That's rare. I bet they'll fetch a pretty price in Denerim."

They said something else, but the halla no longer listened. She took several steps back when they reached to their packs and pulled out a set of shabby bows. They weren't hunters; that much was clear. But even clumsy humans sometimes got lucky when they were desperate enough to catch dinner. In that armor, they would be clumsy and slow. She needed to get a head start and outrun them. Her mind filling with fear and her body tensing with adrenaline, she bolted.

At first, she believed she held the advantage. What could a pair of brutes in metal shells do to her? She was faster than most predators and more agile and clever than any of her kind. However, she didn't get more than thirty strides before something clamped around her leg and yanked her to the ground. The halla cried out in pain and terror when she looked down and saw that she'd stepped right into a rusted metal trap. It's serrated fangs dug deep into her thigh. Blood welled up from the wound and pain unlike anything she'd ever felt nearly dragged her down instantly into unconsciousness.

She heard voices shouting something from the direction of the encampments. Her heart lurched, ears pricking down. Shivering from both fear and the agony of the trap's maw, the halla tried to stand up. Several times, she fell back down to the ground. Footsteps crashing through leaves and snapping twigs drew closer. Instinct screamed for her to change back into her human form. With her hands free to cast, she might be able to do something about the trap. However, when she imagined what a pair of _shems_ might do to a helpless Dalish elf, she shuddered and maintained her shape.

"There it is!" one of the men called out. She saw an outline of his body moving in her direction. The second man followed. Even through the darkness, she could see a pair of smiles revealing white gleaming teeth. Her mind raced, struggling to think of something — anything at all — that could save her from a terrible fate. Surely, this couldn't be how she would die. She'd never believed herself to be destined for greatness, but she'd always imagined herself living out her days in the forest, at peace and in harmony with nature. To think that a pair of _shems_ would slay her for a quick meal and a few coins caused her anger to flare up in outrage and denial.

She gave a loud shriek, a sound that a real halla would never make. Redoubling her efforts to escape, she used all of the strength in her front legs and chest to half crawl and half drag herself away from the approaching men. When they saw her predicament, they laughed. In seconds, they stood on either side of her, towering like trees over an ant. Only trees didn't kill ants, and these men were about to run her through. They raised their weapons.

"Too bad the fur's ruined," one of them lamented.

"I've never seen a halla this color before. You're the one that like pretty exotic things," the second said with a mocking smirk. "Sure you don't want to keep it as a pet?"

The man huffed. "Do I look like a tree-hugging knife-ear to you?" The two of them laughed again. "Hey, hold it down while I slit its throat. I want to save some of the fur for the traders on the King's Road."

The halla, understanding that there would be no escape for her now, resisted the urge to cower before them. Prey animals tended to accept their fate at such times, but she was far from being one. Giving a defiant snort, she waited for the second man to kneel beside her and come close before she gathered all of her remaining strength and began thrashing. Unprepared for the attack, the second man screamed when the tip of one of her golden horns stabbed into the stretch of muscle between his neck and shoulder. She pulled it back and out, satisfied when blood spurted from the wound. He fell backwards, writhing in pain.

The first man gave a battle cry, stabbing downward with his weapon. By some miracle, the halla managed to roll just out of reach of the blade. In the process, she kicked out with her uninjured back leg, her hoof connecting with her attacker's knee. He howled and stumbled back. Using the lull to her advantage, she continued struggling to crawl away. A desperate memory came to her of mage's fire and how she'd always been wary of her affinity for it. Fire was death to the forest, and even though she knew she could burn these two fools to ash if she wished it, she refused to take the chance that she might set the grass and trees ablaze.

Too quickly, the men recovered. Furious now, they charged her, pinning her down with their full weight. The halla felt blood dripping onto her face from the second man's shoulder, felt his muscles tense as he prepared to deal the final blow. She gave another shriek of defiance, refusing to die cowering in fear. She closed her eyes, waiting for the pain of the blade slashing into her throat.

But, it never came.

A sudden gust of icy wind tore through the trees. Silence, then. For a moment, she didn't dare to breathe. When she opened her eyes, the two men above her sat frozen, icicles hanging from their open mouths and chins. Their unshaven faces were locked into expressions of murderous hatred. They were still as stone. Confused but unwilling to let her shock keep her from escaping, the halla struggled to free herself from their weight. When nothing she did helped, she wailed. Her head spun dizzily, the blood flowing from her leg taking her rationale and sanity with it to the muddy ground.

A noise from behind her startled her. She tried to twist and turn her neck to see what it was, but couldn't. Another gust of frigid wind blew over her. This time, she couldn't miss the tangy sweet taste of magic in the air. Stone boulders flew at her from the darkness, ramming into the frozen bodies of the Templars and shattering them into a hundred jagged pieces. She thought she could hear their dying screams. Or was the blood loss making her hallucinate? As their bodies fell away from her, the halla twisted around, squinting through the night.

Footsteps approached, and from the darkness stepped a tall figure dressed in traveler's rags. The clothes were worn and battered, hems of sleeves and pants ratty and torn. It was a man. An elf, most likely, judging by how his toes peeked out from his well-made leather boots. He held a staff at his side, a gnarled strip of wood that lacked any markings or decorations. Gloved hands reached up and pulled back the hood from his face, revealing a pale visage, long pointed ears, and a shaved head. The halla fought to keep still. Her first instinct urged her to try and get away, but her logic insisted that this man had just saved her life. No _vallaslin_ covered his face, yet he didn't have the demeanor of a city elf, either. She watched his body as he set down his staff and crouched beside her, noting the subtle grace with which he moved.

"Easy now. I am not here to hurt you," he spoke in a voice that was as soft as silk. Despite herself, the halla quieted. "Let me help you." Reaching over her, he examined the trap. Now that he leaned in so close, the halla could make out the color of his eyes. They were the brightest blue she'd ever seen.

"You put up a valiant fight, _Hanal'ghilan_ , but I'm afraid it's far from over." She flinched when his fingers brushed over the edges of her wound. "This will hurt, little one. Please, keep as still as you are able."

His words flowed over her, gentle as a bubbling brook. When he pushed an arm under her neck to support her head, his body heat seeped into her. She hadn't realized up until that moment how cold she was. Murmuring elven words of comfort against her ear, he began to cast a spell. With wide eyes, she watched the rusted trap begin to corrode and dissolve into black dust. It wasn't until the metal object disappeared entirely that the pain hit her. Her leg exploded in a white inferno of agony. She whimpered and cried out in distress, mindlessly trying to get away from the source. The elf shushed her and held her against him, his lean form surprisingly strong. A hand hovered over the uneven gashes in her leg, emerald light flowing from his palm to her fur.

The halla felt her control over her form begin to slip. Weakness assailed her as more and more blood seeped from the cuts. She clung to awareness by a thread, allowing her head to fall forward in relief when the pain began to abate. "That's it," the elf cooed. "It will soon be over."

Her flesh stitched together, but he would not be able to heal the wound completely. His magic hummed and sang of fire, destruction, and chaos. He was no healer. At least, not one adept at treating injuries with magic. If she wanted to survive this, she would need to close the injury herself. The halla tried to focus on remembering her human self, struggling to change her body back into its original form. As the elf worked his spell, she shivered in his arms. Slowly, her white fur and horns receded, replaced by pale ivory skin and waist-length raven hair. Powerful thighs and hooves transformed into slender long legs. When the metamorphosis was complete, Faeryrae sagged against the elf, her mana and strength drained to the point of exhaustion.

"You've done enough, stranger," Faerynrae said. "She can heal herself. Thank you for saving her." When the man said nothing, she turned her head and looked up into his eyes. They were wide, his lips parted and his eyebrows furrowed in an expression of surprise. The look didn't last more than a split second before his face smoothed back out into neutrality.

"A shapeshifter," he said. "And one with a rare gift. Have you always been able to change into the golden halla?"

Faerynrae nodded. "She has been able to since she was small." She grimaced, fighting to regain control of her identity, to remember that she was now human and existed as herself. "That is… _I_ have always been able to."

"You've spent too much time in that form," the elf concluded. "When you shapeshift, you must be careful not to lose your sense of self." His eyes flicked to her mangled leg. "How many hours has it been since you've changed?"

"I'm not sure. A week, perhaps, since I left the Brecillian Forest."

"You've been in this form for a week?" Something about his tone of voice suggested he didn't believe her. "Why did you come so far west? And alone, at that?"

"I've…always been alone." His eyes narrowed at her words. She felt his body tense, though she couldn't imagine why her words would put him on edge. Faerynrae struggled to stay awake, reaching for his hand. "You can stop the spell. I can…heal it myself."

"It's alright," he said. "You should rest, _lethallin._ It will take me some time, but I can mend you."

Her lips pursed together. "Who _are_ you? Why did you save me?"

The corner of his mouth tipped up in a small reserved smile. "My name is Solas, and I helped you because a golden halla is a noble creature sacred to many. I thought to save it from the brutality of man." His smile widened marginally, the color of his eyes softening from azure to a grey-blue. "Imagine my surprise when that halla turned into an elven girl."

Faerynrae tried to gauge the sincerity of his words. "I have nothing to offer you in return."

"Well, I've given you my name. Perhaps you could give me yours."

Faerynrae wasn't pleased by such a request. She examined him from head to toe. None of her people had ever been so kind to her. Only Keeper Deshanna tolerated her presence, and only for her own selfish reasons. "My name is Faerynrae," she said at length.

He repeated it once. "And your Clan name?"

"If I had a true Clan, I would name it," she replied sullenly.

"I see."

She wondered if he actually did or if he was judging her and making his own assumptions. Nothing about him, though, gave any sign of malice or ill intent. He seemed sincere and honest, qualities that Faerynrae rarely encountered even among her own kind. "Why are you here?" she asked him.

He looked thoughtful for a moment, his eyes straying to the direction of the human camps. "I imagine that our reasons for being here are not very different. Curiosity, concern, perhaps. Witnessing the stirrings of war is never a comforting sight, wouldn't you agree?"

"You mean the Conclave?" she asked, barely managing the strength to speak. "Is that why you've come?"

"No," he shook his head. "The Conclave is none of my concern." His voice went flat, his face betraying no emotion. His earlier smile vanished as though it had never been. Faerynrae recoiled from the apathy in his eyes, thinking of how easily he'd killed her attackers. He displayed no regret about doing so. It was almost as though he'd swatted a fly out of his way.

"You feel it, too," she said. "Something bad is going to happen here." Her vision blurred and her eyes began to close against her will. Her body went limp, her heart beating sluggishly against her ribs. Something warm and soft wrapped around her followed by strong arms that lifted her up. With her cheek resting against his chest, Faerynrae thought she could smell the earthy musk of Elfroot and Felandaris. Odd. Her people called Felandaris the "demon weed" because it only grew in locations where the Veil was thin. Few of her kind ventured to such places for fear of demons and other dangers. What reason would this elf have to seek it out?

"Put me down," she mumbled. "Where are you taking me?"

"Just to some dry ground. Worry not, Faerynrae. You have nothing to fear from me. I will watch over you while you sleep, and when you wake, I shall be gone."

Darkness took her, and the last thing she saw was Solas's eyes staring down at her with profound intensity.


	2. The One Who Waits: Part II

**At the Unveiling of the World**

 **Story I**

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 **The One Who Waits, and the One Who is Awaited**

 **Part II**

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When she next woke up and looked around, Faerynrae learned that Solas was a man of his word.

As promised, he'd vanished by the time she opened her eyes, leaving her resting beneath the bows of a low bending pine. The tree's spine was warped and twisted from old age and harsh weather, its lush branches hiding her from immediate sight. He left no trace of his presence — no tracks, no dying fire - nothing, save for a fur cloak he'd draped over her to keep her from freezing during the night. Lifting the edge of it to her nose, she breathed in his mysterious scent, a mixture of Elfroot and Felandaris. How thoughtful of him to look to her safety like this — unexpected from a random stranger, but undeniably helpful nevertheless.

Her leg was wrapped in a semi-dry poultice consisting of various dried herbs and powders. Peeling it back, she noted that the wound, though mostly healed, would likely leave a nasty scar. The flesh was white and pink where magic and medicine had helped it stitch back together, but even magic had its limits, and herbs could only do so much. Tracing the repulsive outline now tattooed into her upper thigh, she let out a small breath. Oh, well. Not like she had to worry about impressing anyone with her appearance. If she had it her way, she'd stay in her halla body for the rest of her life.

That thought reminded her of her purpose for being here. Shaking her head to clear it of the fog of sleep, Faerynrae stood up with some difficulty and wrapped Solas's cloak around her naked body. She tried to get a sense of where she was and how far Solas had taken her from the place she'd been injured. A cold wind made her shiver. Cursing, she pulled the cloak tighter. Damned helpless body. She couldn't wait to jump back into a form with fur. Thinking that it might be easier to scout the land from the sky, Faerynrae began to change into a hawk.

She gritted her teeth to keep from screaming when her leg gave a savage throb, pain slicing up her thigh, tracing the outline of her new scar. The agony of it brought her to her knees. Nails digging into her leg, Faerynrae squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the burning to subside. She saw stars, and when they finally cleared, she was kneeling on her hands and knees, her forehead pressed against the cover of dead leaves on the ground. Panting and shivering, she decided that shapeshifting was out of the question for the moment. She would need to work on healing her leg more before she could attempt it again.

That understanding brought about another dilemma. With a frown of annoyance, Faerynrae tied the cloak around her waist and torso, securing it in various places to make it into a makeshift tunic. The ground was moist beneath her bare feet, and the clouds above were tinged with grey. The cloak was damp, too. Some rain must have come down while she'd been asleep, and if the human camps still stood, the inhabitants would lay their clothes out by the fire to dry. This could be a good opportunity to pilfer some supplies. Some in the Clan looked down on stealing, but Faerynrae believed there was nothing unnatural or wrong about it pending it was done for survival. All creatures stole in nature, and if it proved necessary, she would not hesitate to do the same.

Using a length of dead wood as a walking stick to support her weight, Faerynrae used the position of the sun to find her way back west to the camps and the Temple. Fortunately, her run from the Templars and Solas's generosity hadn't carried her too far off course. When she arrived, the area was abuzz with activity. Most of it seemed to be centered closest to the Temple. People talked and argued among themselves while certain _shems_ made speeches to try to get their attention. Their puffed out chests and grimaces reminded her of bucks fighting over territory. The thought made her smile, succeeding in lifting the fatigue from her shoulders somewhat.

Even though the _shems_ seemed to have plenty to keep them occupied and distracted, getting by them unseen would be a difficult task. She'd been right about the rain and clothes, at least. Many of the mages and even some of the Templars had shed their outer robes and armor to allow the lambswool, cotton, and leather within to dry off. Some had brought satchels and packs with a change of clothes while others huddled by their fires in thin shirts and breeches.

Sneaking around the edges of the area, she spotted an abandoned campfire with a tent beside it. A mage's robe lay not far from the structure, draped over a log. She considered her plan. Before she did anything, Faerynrae always wanted to know all the possible outcomes of her actions. Was it worth risking someone seeing her just to get some clothes? She supposed she couldn't get any useful information on the Conclave without them. After all, a half-naked Dalish elf marching into a group of _shems_ would cause more than a stir. She wouldn't be able to shapeshift for hours yet, and judging by the tone of the shouting humans at the Temple, things were escalating. She may not have the luxury of waiting any longer.

Then again, if she did succeed in taking the robes, she would gain a disguise — perhaps, even, a way into the heart of the Conclave itself. She rubbed at her temples. Walking into a group of _shemlen_ this large sounded like a terrible proposition. But, she had little choice. Keeper Deshanna needed the information, and despite Faerynrae's dislike of Clan Lavellan, she knew her duty as an elf was to help protect her people in any way she could.

"Alright, then," she breathed out. "Creators protect me and give me strength."

Abandoning her walking stick, Faerynrae padded closer to the lone campfire. Casting a spell might have made things easier. Her Keeper taught her how to use the forest's gift of camouflage if she needed to remain out of sight for a short while. However, Faerynrae worried that casting or using any sort of magic might alert the Templars. She'd never seen them so close before aside from the two men last night and thus had no idea what the range of their abilities were. Dressed in their shining armor stamped with black symbols of their order, they looked menacing and dangerous. She'd heard tales of their cruelty, and last night had been proof of the rumors.

 _Focus on the objective, not the obstacles_ , she reminded herself. Sight narrowing on her goal, Faerynrae crept up to the log and snatched the indigo blue robes into her arms. Just as she did, the the tent rustled. She heard voices from within. A hand reached out to pull back the flap. Faerynrae's body froze, eyes wide. Within the tent, she saw a human woman with red hair smiling as she pressed herself against the armored body of a dark-haired man. His arms wrapped around her waist, his face buried in the crook of her neck.

"Don't go yet, Ellendra," the Templar said. She whispered something to him and they both laughed quietly. When she would have stepped out of the tent, the man grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back in, pressing his mouth against her cheek.

"You have my phylactery, Mattrin," she reassured him. "You know I can't stay, but should we be separated, you'll always be able to find me."

The Templar groaned. "Two weeks without you. How will I survive?"

"As we have survived every other obstacle that the Maker has set before us all these years," she smiled.

Mattrin pulled her closer. "Stay with me…just for a while longer," he pleaded. "I fear once the Rebellion separates us again, we'll -"

Ellendra covered his mouth with her own. "The Conclave will end that," she told him heatedly when they broke the kiss. "This is our last hope for peace. The Divine has already arrived, but the Grand Enchanter isn't here. I must ride back to -" The flap of the tent dropped back down. Within, Faerynrae heard the woman say something else, but couldn't make out the words. For a moment, she sat still, stunned. A mage loving a Templar? And a Templar loving a mage in return? Was such a thing truly possible? She'd heard of the terrible fate that mages faced within the Circles. Wasn't their hatred for Templars and the Chantry the entire reason for the recent uprising?

Putting the information away for later speculation, Faerynrae gripped the robes tighter in her hands and snuck back into the shadows of the forest. Once there, she pulled on the garments, noting that they were finely made and warm. Though they were a bit too large for her, she figured she would manage somehow as long as she didn't trip on the hem. Faerynrae was tempted to leave Solas's cloak behind, but something stopped her from doing so. On a whim, she took it with her, the scent of Felandaris creating a comforting barrier between her and the humans she was about to face.

Entering the camps from the eastern side, Faerynrae tried not to make eye contact with anyone. Looking straight ahead, she weaved through the crowd, noting that she'd been wrong about those attending this event. Not all here were human. She saw some elves, dwarves, and even qunari milling about. Her earlier fears proved unfounded. Everyone had more pressing matters to attend to than staring at a lost-looking elf. In the eyes of this crowd, she was just another face. As she moved, she tried to listen to what people were saying. Some pinned all of their hopes on this one gathering while others insisted it would fail. The war would get worse before it got better. They all seemed to agree on that. If Divine Justinia couldn't help the two sides come to an agreement today, then all hope for peace would be lost.

 _This seems like just another attempt to avert war,_ she thought. _It's important, but nothing that we need to worry about._ _I should head back. There is little for me to see here. I'll tell Keeper Deshanna about what I heard and we can turn the aravels farther east. Avoiding this mess shouldn't be too difficult._

Some time towards evening, a flicker of movement caught her eye in the crowd. She'd decided to stay until morning and was searching for a place to rest when she spotted a familiar figure crouching near the Temple's entrance. Many men and elves wore traveling clothes, but she recognized the lean figure and gnarled staff right away. It was Solas, and by the way he turned his head about to make sure he was alone, Faerynrae guessed he did not wish to be noticed or followed. As though a bucket of cold water had been poured on her, Faerynrae snapped to attention. The earlier feeling of foreboding returned. Throughout the day, she'd managed to convince herself that spying on this gathering was a waste of time. Now, she wasn't so sure.

Tense, nervous, yet somehow excited, Faerynrae pursued him inside the Temple, keeping her distance. Immediately, darkness surrounded her, broken only by a few blazing torches hanging from rusted metal cages on the walls. The Temple's passages consisted of winding corridors of aged grey stone, white-black marble, and ruined halls. For the most part, the Temple was vacant. Most rooms were caved in or destroyed, time and climate ravaging them beyond recognition. Statues which might have once been elegant and stunning in their details now lingered as worn chunks of stone, missing limbs, heads, or inscriptions.

In her struggle to keep up with him, Faerynrae learned something else about Solas. He was no simple traveler or mage. In fact, he was much more than he seemed. She couldn't explain it, even to herself, but something about him seemed unnatural. His stance suggested a wealth of experience; each step he took was careful and measured. Yet, this did not slow him down in the least. He moved with swiftness and grace, his feet not making a sound. He was flexible and balanced; even in a half-crouch, he moved at the pace of a brisk walk. From the few times when she caught glimpses of his profile through his hood, she noticed his blue eyes held a faint glow.

The staff in his hand thrummed with power; she felt his magic trail behind him, its strength and feral intensity so raw that it stole her breath. He'd woven a spell of invisibility around himself, she realized. Had she not been able to see through such things, she would have lost sight of him long ago. Something about that magic made her ache. Not in her body, but in her heart. It felt nostalgic, somehow, just like the scent of the cloak around her shoulders. His expression never changed. As though chiseled from the same marble that stretched out beneath his feet, it remained suspended in a picture of pure focus.

Following him through a smaller doorway, Faerynrae gasped when they stepped into a massive hall. Enormous marble pillars held up a vaulted ceiling with faded paintings of golden figures. Moonlight trickled through the gaps in the tiles and shingles. The white marble seemed to glow within it. Statues lined the walls, a few monuments placed at the foot of a grand staircase leading up to another level high above. A large statue stood in the center of the hall, a figure of the woman Faerynrae recognized to be the humans' fabled prophet, Andraste. Despite its dilapidated state, the hall still gave her chills. This place must have been breathtaking in its prime.

Pushing back his hood, Solas walked to the center of the room, his head swiveling around to inspect his surroundings. He circled Andraste's likeness, brushing his fingertips over an aged inscription at her feet. A small round basin stood there, the metal shimmering in the moonlight. Rain water trickled and dripped from the holes in the ceiling, falling into it with small _pings_ that echoed in the vast space. When Solas turned, Faerynrae spotted blood covering the side of his neck and some of his jaw beneath his collar. Tearing off a fragment of cloth from the already tattered hem of his tunic, he dipped it in the basin then reached up and wiped the red from his skin. She saw no wound on him, indicating that the blood was not his own. The spell around him wavered and died.

Her heart shriveled. She clutched at her chest when the feeling of dread from earlier returned.

On the left side of the room, double doors snapped open. A commotion followed suit — voices shouting and clamoring. Half a dozen armored men and women shuffled into the hallway, dragging what looked to be a woman in white and red behind them. Two of them held a man captive as well. His armor was a Templar's, but something about the decorations on his breastplate hinted at the fact that he might be more. The woman spoke in a calm but firm voice, telling her captors to release her. The man, meanwhile, spat and hissed out curses, promising vengeance for his disgrace.

Faerynrae's breath froze in her lungs when a set of dark shapes followed the armored figures into the hall. Her fingers dug into her robes. It took all of her resolve not to erect a barrier around herself on instinct.

 _Demons!_

They floated in behind the armored soldiers. Strangely, they appeared calm and subdued. Fire followed in their wake, a sickening gurgling spewing from their contorted open mouths. When the soldiers reached the center of the room and stopped, the demons did the same.

Her eyes snapped to Solas. He stood still, his feet set wide apart and his chin held high. His hand rested on his staff, his posture suggesting he was calm and unaffected by the unfolding events. In the darkness, she couldn't make out the expression on his face. One of the armored men spotted him and pointed but didn't say a word. In fact, all the men and women's faces were slack and lifeless, the centers of their eyes pulsing with an eerie red light. The struggling Templar saw Solas and screamed louder.

"You, there! Mage!" he hollered. " _Do_ something about this! These abominations have lost their minds!"

"Please, help us," the woman in white called to him in a heavy Orlesian accent. Now in the light, Faerynrae saw the heavy wrinkles lining her face.

Solas didn't move. "You are not the reason I am here," he said smoothly. "I await another."

"What are you talking about?" the Templar barked. "They're mad! They've lost all reason! Damn it, _do_ something!"

There was no need for explanations or further denials. Right at that moment, something large and dark hovered into the room from the same doorway. Though she couldn't see its face through a thick mass of wispy smoke, two glowing spheres resembling eyes peered out at the scene. It towered over the other soldiers, at least twice their height. As the shape passed over the ground, ice formed beneath it. Rasping, slow breaths echoed off the walls. The pillars and ceiling shuddered. The air seemed to freeze. The Templar stopped moving, his eyes widening in terror. He looked to the woman then back to the creature.

"Maker help us," he whispered hoarsely, his face losing all color.

The creature floated over to him. From the smoke, an arm reached out. Long bony fingers tipped with sharp claws touched the center of the man's chest. Something crimson trailed up his body, outlining the veins in his neck and face. The Templar's eyes rolled back into his head. The soldiers dropped him to the floor where he convulsed violently, saliva and blood flowing from his mouth. A moment, then he was still. Faerynrae covered her mouth with her hands, her body starting to shake with fear. What _was_ this thing? How could it kill something with a single touch?

Turning away from the dead man, the creature moved to study Solas. "Look what we have here," it purred, its voice deep and full of churning power. The pair of glowing eyes narrowed. "Have you come to accept my generous offer?"

"No," Solas said. "I am here to take back what is rightfully mine."

The creature chuckled, but the sound was far from pleasant. It reminded Faerynrae of metal grinding on stone. "And so, the trickster has been tricked. Isn't that the way of it?" the shadow drawled. It moved and withdrew something round from what she could only assume was its cloak. "I must admit. The artifact does not behave as you described. It rejects and fights me. I do wonder," the shadow pondered with false curiosity, "if you meant for me to die upon activating it."

"You will die regardless," the elf answered, his voice never wavering.

"You are too weak to challenge me," he huffed. "Leave or stay, but trouble me with your self-serving lies no further. I have more important business to attend." Dismissing him then, the creature turned to the armored soldiers. "Bring forth the sacrifice."

"Please, stop!" the woman shouted when tendrils of red light enveloped her like chains. She rose into the air as though suspended by invisible strings. "Why are you doing this?" she called down to the men and women. "You of all people…to betray us like this…"

"Keep the sacrifice still," the shadow commanded, his tone filling with excitement. He held out the orb. A wave of power rushed outward from it, and it began to fill with a blinding emerald and red glow. "Look on in helplessness, _elf_ , as I take my rightful place in the heavens."

"Use that orb, and you will die," Solas warned. "I am here to witness your destruction, to assure it myself, if I must. If the orb doesn't take your life, I _will_."

"Bold words for one who could not even summon the strength to open it."

They continued speaking, but Faerynrae couldn't understand anything anymore. The light of the orb hypnotized her. It was beautiful in the most terrifying of ways. Whatever it was, in the hands of this monster, the orb would be the catalyst to something terrible. Solas gripped his staff so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He promised to kill the creature, and somehow she couldn't help but believe that he could. How he would do it and what price he would pay, she could never hope to know. The smell of Felandaris enveloped her.

She knew now why she'd been experiencing a feeling of dread for the past two days. Her instincts had been trying to warn her of this. But, what could she do to stop it? She was just a single person, not much different from the Templar who had died from a single touch. Solas wanted to fight, but she couldn't let him fight alone. She _owed_ him a debt, and by her honor, she would repay it. She imagined cowering here, bearing witness as the monster did the same thing to him as he'd done to the Templar, and wanted to be sick. Through her terror, she swallowed and closed her eyes, _willing_ herself to stop shaking. She had no weapon - no staff or sword. Wouldn't she just be a burden?

Still suspended, the woman dressed in white struggled in her bonds, pleading for the soldiers to come to their senses. Out of the mass of writhing shadows, the monster's face appeared. Faerynrae's hands clenched into fists at her sides. Again, she had to squash her fear down to keep it from overwhelming her. She'd never seen such a hideous visage. Splotchy skin stretched in torn strips over broken pieces of blood red crystal. The eyes looked human, but an inhuman hunger filled them. More and more of the creature's body materialized, revealing it to be just as deformed as its face. Bone and crystal mixed together to form a skeleton wrapped in naked muscle and sinew.

Solas stepped forward. "Return the orb," he demanded in a booming voice.

"I think not, little elf." The thing smiled, showing crooked teeth. Lifting its free hand, it gathered a ball of red magic in its palm and prepared to hurl it towards Solas. Suddenly, time stopped. Faerynrae looked between the creature and the elf, noted how the glow around the orb grew brighter. An emerald chain flew out and embedded itself into the woman's chest. She screamed in agony, her head falling back. Still grinning, the monster cast his spell and sent it flying.

Never would she understand how it was that she got to Solas so quickly. She couldn't even recall moving her legs. Did she do it to save him? Did she jump between his body and the spell because she wanted to repay him for rescuing her before? Or was it because he reminded her of the wonders she'd seen in nature - of those small bits of magic untouched by the world that needed to be preserved and protected no matter the sacrifice? None of that seemed important, nor did any of it feel like logical justification for what she did. The only thing Faerynrae could clearly understand was that she _had_ to stop this madness. One way or another, she _had_ to try.

Her body rammed into Solas's with such force that it knocked them both to the ground. She lay there for a moment, dazed and confused, until his blue eyes came into focus. He looked just as bewildered as she felt. Perhaps he wanted answers to the thousand questions she saw in those azure depths, but she had no time to give them. Whipping around, she scrambled to her feet, thinking her heart might stop when she stood before the creature. It was larger than she originally thought, and much more terrifying up close. She sensed its fury, felt the burning heat of the melted ground where his spell landed a short distance away.

"What's this?" the thing's upper lip peeled back over its teeth. "Another mortal come to toy with forced beyond her ken?"

Faerynrae couldn't speak. Her voice had left her, and it was only through sheer willpower that she stopped her knees from shaking. Staring up at this creature was like staring at the face of a god. The magic around him felt ancient and immensely powerful. She knew that, as she was now, she had no hope of defeating him.

"You are afraid," the voice rumbled. "Yet you stand. A foolish choice, _mortal_."

The woman had stopped screaming, Faerynrae realized. She looked up, and their eyes met. "You must run!" she cried out to her from above. "You must warn them all! Hurry!"

"No more interruptions. Kill the intruders," the monster sneered, pointing his bony fingers in Faerynrae's direction. Again, time stopped. A few of the soldiers rushed at her, some drawing their swords and others preparing to cast. The bonds around the woman weakened. She glared at the creature, whose full attention was focused down on Faerynrae, and lashed out with her hand. By some miracle, she reached the orb. It went flying out of the monster's hand.

Beside her, she could have sworn she heard Solas suck in a breath. The orb fell, clattering to the marble floor. Just like before, she couldn't recall moving. In this unnatural frame of frozen time, all she could do was act on blind instinct. Dropping to the ground, she rolled forward, reaching out and grabbing the orb with her left hand. Immediately, its green light swelled and swallowed her whole. It felt like she'd picked up a handful of flaming coals in her palm. The agony of it ripped a scream from her throat.

Pain. So much pain. More acute and terrible than anything she'd ever felt. Through the tears that ran down her face, she looked at her burning arm. The magic from the orb lashed out at her, cleaving long lacerations into her skin. Her body spasmed, spine arching backwards until she thought it might snap. Her legs tensed. She rose up on her toes, but despite feeling off balance, she did not fall. The power clamped its jaws around her much like the trap from the night before. Except this was worse. A thousand times worse.

She lost all sense of time. No matter how much she begged her body to listen, for her hand to release the orb, her fingers refused to obey. Faerynrae floated through a haze of confusion, but being unaware of her physical form still did not release her from the agony. Curling into herself, she writhed and thrashed, scratching and clawing at her skin with her free hand. Once, she believed she had a sense of pride, of dignity. But now, she knew that if she could rid herself of this pain, she would have done anything. She would have bowed, begged, pleaded, pledged her very _soul_ to whoever asked for it. She would have even —

 _No!_ — a part of her shrieked — _I would never be a slave_ _even if I had to die!_

The thought splintered the pain, doused the burning, and pulled back the curtain of misery just enough to allow a pinprick of light to shine through. She cracked open an eye. Somehow, the massive hall, the furious monstrosity and armored soldiers around her all seemed insignificant. They blended into the grey fog in her mind. Then, Faerynrae turned her head and saw _him_. Solas. The one who was much more than he seemed. For a split second, she _knew_ what that meant and saw him as he was before the connection severed and her suffering returned in full.

She fell to her knees, her eyes still trapped within Solas's desperate gaze. The thousand questions there had multiplied, turning into a tidal wave. Beyond that, she saw naked fear — exposed, blooming, unbound. She didn't know _why_ he was afraid — because she held the orb? Because it would likely kill her? Or because it was his and she'd stolen it from him without meaning to? Knowledge filled her, an understanding that he could easily take her life now and reclaim his artifact.

But would he? Most importantly, if it meant stopping the creature and foiling its plans, would she let him?

The moment passed. By the time that single thought slithered across her mind, it was too late. The orb vibrated in her hand and the glow intensified, the light so strong that it burned even through her eyelids when she squeezed her eyes shut.

 _What have I done?_ \- she heard her own voice asking.

She felt herself falling into a bottomless abyss.

She felt the skin on her arm splaying open.

Then, she felt nothing at all.


	3. The One Who Waits: Part III

**At the Unveiling of the World**

 **Story I**

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 **The One Who Waits, and the One Who is Awaited**

 **Part III**

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Faerynrae fought to regain consciousness, but her body was stiff and unresponsive. She felt like a bug trapped in the merciless web of a spider. No matter how much she struggled, awareness slipped through her grasp. Eventually, pieces did return. As soon as she could, she grabbed at them, reclaiming her body piece by piece, fighting exhaustion each step of the way. When she finally succeeded in blinking open her eyes, she saw a vast ocean of green all around her. Immediately, she thought she must be seeing the sky, but she'd never witnessed the sky turn such an emerald hue before. She watched, glassy-eyed, as the clouds floated by, still trapped in a cocoon of lassitude.

Something pressed up against her back. The ground, she realized. Odd, but could hardly feel it. Moving her fingers, she sifted them through something grainy, analyzing the texture between her fingers.

Sand. Soft, warm, sand.

Closing her eyes for a moment, Faerynrae battled her disorientation.

 _Ground_ , she told herself, allowing the sensation of the sand to register.

 _Sky_ , she insisted, focusing on the green and black clouds above.

When she was comfortable enough, Faerynrae sat up with a groan, feeling as though she'd been given a thorough beating with a spiked club. Every muscle in her body ached and throbbed, including her temples. Unfamiliar silk and cotton rubbed against her skin. Gripping at the collar line of her garment, she pulled on it, making room to breathe. She still wore the mage's robes she'd pilfered from the human camps, but the previously rich and vibrant azure color of them was tainted with burn marks and blood.

 _Blood? Whose blood?_

Faerynrae forced herself to her feet. A choking heat made breathing difficult. Her tongue felt swollen. Sweat ran down her face and neck. She wiped at her forehead with a sleeve of her robe, dabbing the salty droplets out of her eyes. The world came into sharper focus, and she gasped in both dismay and wonder at what she saw. An ocean of white sand stretched out before her, gleaming with a verdant glow. A mountain range of dunes rose up into the distance, touching the clouds at the horizon. Jutting columns of semi-transparent green crystal were the only bits of color that broke the blinding whiteness. As she walked past them, the glass-like material shimmered. At times, she could have sworn she saw eyes or faces within.

After walking some distance, Faerynrae saw the edge of a crumbled ruin at the top of a nearby dune. Sprawled out in a mixture of worn black rock and grey stones, she hardly recognized the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Its massive walls and pillars reached up into the skies, leaving her feeling like a bug before its enormity. Crystal covered the walls, growing like thick fungus over the stones and blooming like vegetation from the floor and columns. Light shone down upon the structure from the sky, but she could see no sun past the gathering clouds.

Faerynrae rubbed her neck, feeling like she might suffocate. The heat intensified. It was overwhelming, but it wouldn't kill her right away. It was the kind that sucked one's strength out at a lazy, measured pace, bringing about a slow death. Faerynrae didn't think she needed to fear it. If she didn't find a way out soon, however, the lack of water would slay her first. She looked in all directions, determining her primary goal to be escape. Wherever she was, she needed to get out. Seeing no other option, she began to climb towards the ruin.

Dimly, she thought this place was quite similar to the Fade, but it looked so different from other times she'd been there that she doubted her own sanity. Things had never felt this tangible in the Fade before. A haze always hovered over her thoughts, her vision limited and narrowed on a single thing at time. Now, the haze was entirely absent and her focus strayed past her immediate surroundings. It was as though she could feel the heartbeat of this world, as though each of her own breaths was its own.

This _couldn't_ be the Fade, though. To be here, she would either have to be dying or dreaming, and she was fairly certain that she wasn't doing either. Frowning, she fingered her robe between her fingers.

Real. All of this felt entirely too _real_.

Vaguely, she recalled what happened with the orb and unconsciously looked at her hand. A long deep gash stretching from her palm to her wrist was the only physical evidence of what she'd experienced. Just as her attention focused on it, fire seared through her nerves, the pain vivid and crushing. The skin splayed open along the seam of the wound, green light pulsing inside her flesh. Green — just like everything else in this strange place. The clammy hands of panic rushed to capture her self-control, but she denied them. If, one way or another, she truly was in the Fade, then demons lurked around every corner, and she was currently a delicious and vulnerable target.

Years spent surviving the deadly whims of nature had taught her to expect the worst. For now, she would assume that this desert was part of the world beyond the Veil. Steeling herself, she looked up towards the ruin. She'd entered the Fade somehow. A portal, perhaps. The Temple of Sacred Ashes was where all of this had started. It _had_ to be the key to finding her way back. As she climbed, sand ground into the wound on her hand. The sweat running down her body sank into the raw flesh. She flinched at the sting, looking towards the top of the dune. Still so far to climb. Every step she took forward felt heavier and heavier.

Would she make it? Would a demon appear and attack her? Or would she collapse before she could reach her goal? Would she die here all alone, her body rotting away among the white sand? Licking her lips, she reflected on how thirsty she was, how dry and scratchy her throat felt. She thought to shapeshift into something that could fly, but — as before — when she attempted to change her form, her leg throbbed savagely. Now, the wound in her hand made it worse. She gasped and clutched at her wrist, squeezing her eyes shut and cursing under her breath. As many times as she'd visited the Fade in her dreams, she'd never felt pain like this. Straightening her shoulders, she examined the far-reaching nothingness around her. The desert suddenly seemed much larger — no longer bewitching, but threatening.

What was she going to do? She was wounded, she couldn't shapeshift, and she was weaponless — _defenseless_.

At that thought, Keeper Deshanna's words rang out in her mind.

 _Focus on the objective, not the obstacles surrounding it._

That's right. If she wanted to make it out of here in one piece, she would need all of her concentration and a clear mind. Pushing aside her immediate fears, doubts, and worries, she stopped climbing for a moment and allowed herself to take a deep breath. Reaching for a strip of fragile silk on the hem of her robes, she tore a long piece of it off and wrapped it around her hand to create a barrier between the skin and sand. The injury wasn't bleeding and she had strength enough to move forward. For survival, that was enough. Determined not to lose heart, she continued her climb, keeping her breathing steady and focusing on each of her movements separately, tuning out everything but their rhythm.

Half way up the dune, she noticed something glimmering about two hundred feet behind her. Even squinting, she struggled to make out what it was. It took several tries to see that it was the golden shining figure of a woman. The thing trailed after her, silently watching her progress. It looked humanoid but had no face or distinguishing features. Faerynrae's heart felt heavy as it thudded against her ribs. Adrenaline tingled through her. Mentally, she traced the runes for a barrier, surrounding herself with it, preparing in case the creature was a demon.

She'd never seen a demon look like this, however. Demons were typically monstrous, hideous, and misshapen. If they saw a victim to devour, they did not hesitate. They did not shy away or flinch; they simply attacked with relentless hunger and bloodlust. This creature was dazzling in contrast, glowing like the sun and floating like a feather through the air. Strangely, every time Faerynrae turned to confront it, it flickered and disappeared. After a while, she gave up on trying to examine it further, deciding to keep her barrier intact in case the thing turned out to be an enemy of some sort. As a precaution, she kept the image of the runes for a fire spell ever-present in her mind, prepared to defend herself if necessary.

When she finally scrambled up to the top of the hill, she dusted sand from her clothes and looked around. The Temple before her was in a worse state than she remembered it. Its core structure had been heavily damaged, and judging by the direction of the gashes and scratches in the stone, an explosion had torn this place apart. The color drained from her face when she saw countless bodies littering the ground, their corpses contorted into various postures of pain and agony. They'd been savaged and mutilated past recognition. There was no blood; they'd all been burned to husks.

What could have done this? What force could have possibly caused such destruction? As if to answer, her hand throbbed. Faerynrae gritted her teeth and tried to recall anything past the moment when she touched the orb, but couldn't. All she could remember was the horrible pain — the agony of the artifact lashing out at her with its magic. She remembered the strangling heat all around her, as though she'd been standing in the midst of an inferno. Solas's shocked face lingered in that final moment of her awareness. Then nothing. Just darkness.

Stripped of her memory, lost in a sea of sand with only ruins to look to for guidance, Faerynrae wrapped her arms around herself and gritted her teeth together even harder. In the moment of weakness, fear began to creep into her heart. Sensing her focus slipping, she struggled to stay calm. Plenty of times, she'd wandered the forests — familiar and strange — on her own. She knew how to survive without assistance, could do so in even the harshest of conditions. However, she'd never felt quite so alone and helpless. No animals were here to provide companionship and the theory that she might be dead after all frightened her beyond all sense.

The bodies coating the floor like a gruesome tapestry didn't help. They were faceless. She held no bond with them to cause her grief at their passing. A sense of injustice, perhaps. Though these were mostly _shemlen_ , they were still living creatures. They'd had their own lives and dreams, their own destinies. For something to rip that time away from them so mercilessly was unfair. A lion hunted deer to survive. He killed because he must do so to live. But, the thing that killed these men and women did not do so because it had no alternative.

Faerynrae looked at the corpses until the image was burned into her eyelids. Acid churned in her stomach, the stirrings of anger. People were selfish and ignorant. They lived only to serve themselves, taking without giving in return. But, they were part of nature, just as any creature. This murder — this _slaughter_ — was wrong. Her people often spoke of avenging honor and righting wrongs done to them. None of the victims here were Dalish, yet…

Her hand throbbed again.

Continuing her path inside, Faerynrae walked into the large hall where the last of her memories took place. She called out, asking if anyone was there, begging for someone to answer her. Silence greeted her in return, and the feeling of loneliness threatened to crush her with its overwhelming intensity. No matter how many times she called out to any survivors, nobody answered. Only her own voice echoing in the strange hazy atmosphere called back.

 _ **There is no one left**_ **,** a voice whispered from behind her. Faerynrae spun around, coming face to face with the shining woman from earlier. Tense and ready to spring, Faerynrae's fire spell roared as it surrounded both of them. Yet, the creature did not flinch or dodge the attack. She stood still and calm, staring at Faerynrae out of the place where eyes should have been. When the fire went out, she didn't move.

"What are you?" Faerynrae asked. "You are not a demon. A spirit, perhaps? I've heard they wander the Fade as demons do."

 _ **There is no one left,**_ the woman repeated as if she hadn't heard her. **_Only the one who waits._**

"What are you talking about? Are there survivors? What happened here?"

 _ **Here is only an echo. Here the hands are tied. You must go now, golden halla, to the one who waits.**_

"How do you know about that? Who _are_ you?"

 _ **Go now,**_ the woman commanded, raising her arms in an urgent gesture. **_Go before it is too late. When the magic fades, the rending will cover all in shadow._**

"Riddles," Faerynrae grimaced. "I truly despise them." Fed up and frustrated, she turned from the woman and continued her path to the Temple. She nearly jumped out of her skin when the woman's voice whispered right next to her ear.

 ** _You must choose to follow him, but choosing will bring strife and pain. I am sorry that you are the one who is awaited._**

With that, Faerynrae sensed her fade away and disappear. Goosebumps sandpapered her skin. Ominous words, but what did they mean? Shaking her head, she dismissed them as nothing more than a spirit's trick.

When she made it to the hall, her eyes flew open in panic. A massive shadow, its deformed features creased and furrowed in a mask of rage, floated over the smaller form of a hooded elf. Men in armor surrounded them, charging towards the elf with their weapons at the ready. The orb was nowhere to be seen. A woman hovered in the air, tied and bound by crimson chains, her mouth open in a silent scream. Faerynrae crouched down, raising her hands defensively, only to realize that the figures in the center of the room weren't moving. She blinked, her vision focusing on the frozen scene. Memories came flooding back in a chaotic wave. She clutched at her head as she recalled pieces of things in disjointed fragments. The shadow had attacked a woman in white. Solas tried to stop him. Then, the shadow had used the orb. Or, tried to. From then, things were hazy, but she couldn't forget what Solas had said — that the orb had originally belonged to _him_.

No. She couldn't blame him for all of this just yet, though her hesitation made little sense. He was a stranger to her. Enigmatic and interesting to be sure, but a stranger nevertheless. She should have been eager at the thought of finding the one responsible for this madness, at the chance to make order out of chaos. But, when she tried to imagine Solas at the heart of all this death, she couldn't. All she could see was the gentleness in his eyes as he saved her from the Templars in the forest. She couldn't forget his promise to watch over her as she slept. Such gentle hands could not be stained with so much blood.

That's right. There was no point in making theories and drawing conclusions when she had so little evidence. He'd mentioned the orb was his, but he hadn't said anything about how it was taken from him. Perhaps the monster had stolen it. If that was the case, then none of this was his fault.

Running her fingers through her hair in frustration, Faerynrae moved towards the time-frozen group of people. She approached with caution, for she had no idea what to expect. What if they suddenly came to life? What if they were demons waiting to spring a trap? She couldn't afford to let her guard down. Moving her fingers through the air, she called a series of fire mines into existence, placing them directly below the charging armored group of soldiers. One movement, and they would turn to ash.

The great hall was torn apart, but the statue of Andraste still stood. The explosion had cracked and damaged it beyond recognition. She walked to the basin at its feet, thinking to clean her wounds in the cold water, only to find the metal bowl filled to the brim with blood. Recoiling, Faerynrae stumbled back, her head turning towards the grand staircase. Huge chunks of it had been blown to smithereens, leaving only a curving piece of carved stone too treacherous for a stable climb. Something glowed high above at its top. But, that wasn't what held her attention.

Eyes wide, she stepped forward. Her heart missed a beat. Hands reaching out instinctively, she opened her mouth and called out a name. The figure sitting on the broken staircase looked up. His face was a picture of anguish and sorrow, his blue eyes dark and dull. His shoulders sagged with hopelessness, hands folded together over his knees. Blood covered his clothes, too, strings of it slashing across his nose and cheeks. She walked to him, unable to speak. Relief numbed her body. She nearly collapsed with it. Seeing him meant she wasn't alone after all, and she'd never been so happy to see another person in her life.

"Solas…" Her hands shook.

"Faerynrae," he rasped, his voice hoarse. His eyebrows rose and furrowed together. "You're…alive…"

"Alive?" Afraid to hope, she stared at his face, transfixed, so terribly glad that she wasn't alone in this vast nothing that all other emotions abandoned her. Yet, her logic rebelled. He couldn't really be here, could he? Was he an illusion? A demon? A figment of her imagination? Did it even matter? Confused, she inspected the man before her from head to toe, still worried that she was conjuring him up out of some sort of desperation.

"Solas, what are you doing here?"

His eyes flickered to the frozen scene behind them. When Faerynrae glanced back towards it, she saw that the elf had disappeared.

"Waiting," Solas said at length.

"Waiting for what?"

Not answering, he stood up and climbed up several steps on the grand staircase, turning his back to her. His image wavered. His worn traveler's garments disappeared, replaced by rich black robes lined with dark brown fur. Glimmering gold armor covered his arms, legs, and torso, a shaggy black wolf's head crowning him as a hood and mantle. Faerynrae's gut clenched when he raised a hand. A shattered piece of what she recognized as the orb hovered just above his palm. Right at that moment, her hand pulsed and trembled. Green sparks of magic shot forth from her wound, zapping up along her forearm like lightning. One of her knees buckled from the agony of it, but she managed to remain upright. Forgetting to breathe, Faerynrae walked towards the staircase, climbing step after step until she stood just behind him. The closer she moved to him, the more intense the pain in her hand became until a haze of white hovered over her eyes, nearly blinding.

Solas's shoulders were lowered, his face angled down. A shadow seemed to surround him. His other arm hung limp at his side. Examining the parts of his hands that were visible through his leather gloves, Faerynrae saw scratches, light burns, callouses on them. Blood was caked under his fingernails, the crimson a stark contrast to his pale skin. She had to swallow past the lump in her throat before speaking again.

"The orb," she said, watching the hovering shattered thing in his hand. "You said it was yours…"

"Yes."

"Did you know it could…" She swallowed, her eyes briefly gliding over the countless corpses in the Temple. "Did you know it would do _this_?"

"Yes."

"Why did the shadow creature have it? Did he steal it from you?"

Silence at that. Faerynrae whispered his name, but he did not turn around.

"And now it begins," he murmured.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end just before a violent explosion shook the ground and rent the air. Unable to keep her balance, Faerynrae fell forward, landing at just the right angle to keep from hurting herself on the stairs. The figures frozen by time in the center of the hall began moving. She heard an unearthly scream. The woman that was trapped in the air twisted, then vanished. The shadow tilted its head back and roared. Power burst from him in hot blazing waves. Faerynrae tried to shield herself with her arms, but it was akin to trying to hide from a volcano's fury while standing right at its heart. The force of the blast pushed her back against the stairs, pressing on her chest and snaking into her lungs. She coughed, tasting blood.

Thunder cracked in the sky. Through eyes flooding with tears of pain, Faerynrae looked up. The emerald clouds parted then began to swirl in a tempest. The wind picked up speed, howling and moaning in tandem with the screech of lightning within the center of the building storm. Stones, rubble, and sand lifted up into the air. As soon as they left the ground, they were pulled with devastating force into the eye. The keening wind pulled at Faerynrae's clothes, whipping her long hair in all directions. Scrambling to her feet, she threw her arms around the nearest chunk of boulder, praying it would keep her safe.

"We can't stay here!" She shouted over the deafening wind. "We'll die!"

"Then leave," he said, his back still turned to her. His voice had turned to steel. Though he didn't shout, she heard him perfectly.

"I don't know how. I don't even know where this is or why —" She screamed when the wind ripped her feet out from under her. Its fluid hot tendrils wrapped around her waist, bruising her ribs, squeezing her gut, pulling her back so hard she thought she might be sick. Terrified she would follow the rubble and sand into the storm, she gripped the stone harder, several of her nails cracking and peeling as she struggled to hold on. She hardly felt the pain of it as her feet lifted off the ground.

"Leave," Solas said again, his voice even harder now. Against all reason, he didn't seem to be bothered by what was happening, standing like an unyielding anchor in the middle of it all.

"I told you, I don't know how!" she cried out.

At last, he moved to face her. Faerynrae's insides turned to stone. His face had changed. Instead of the sorrowful blue eyes she remembered, glowing orbs stared out at her from beneath the terrifying glower of the wolf's head, his handsome smooth features shifting into a picture of severity. Between the flashes of lightning, his face looked hard and threatening.

"This is no place for a mortal," he declared, his eyes darting to the gash on her hand.

"But the creature!" she protested. "I can't just—"

"The creature is _my_ responsibility," he cut in.

Faerynrae's eyes widened as far as they would go. Understanding poured over her like frigid water.

"He didn't _steal_ the orb, did he?" She heard herself ask. "The shadow creature…he didn't take it from you by force…"

Solas's lips straightened into a hard line. Faerynrae regained her footing and glared up at him.

"As expected, _Hanal_ _'ghilan_ , you see the truth unclouded," he frowned. "Now that you have it, _leave_. While you still can."

"Is the monster trapped here with us? If I leave, will it remain?"

Silence.

"What does it want?" she shouted. "Power? Magic from the orb?"

Solas's expression soured. "The world," he said. "And all that is beyond."

Faerynrae's arms shook. She remembered, again, the image of the countless bodies on the floor of the Temple. She imagined the humans and elves replaced by her companions — by the gentle and innocent creatures of the forest. She imagined the green trees within her favorite woods shriveling and dying as the creature spread its touch of death over the land. The thought made her sick.

"There has to be a way to kill him," she said through a clenched jaw. "There _has_ to be a way to stop him."

"There is," Solas said, the sharp edge of his voice almost painful.

"How?"

"It won't be simple, but the mark on your hand is a start," he glanced at her ravaged palm.

" _This_?" She shuddered in agony. The strips of emerald magic swirling around her arm chewed and bit into her flesh, sinking their teeth into it without drawing blood. "How…? And if I can use it to stop the monster, why are you sending me away?"

" _Hanal_ _'ghilan_ ," he addressed her sternly with narrowed ice blue eyes. His feral cerulean stare held her gaze with strength that rivaled that of the maelstrom above them — pulling her in, hypnotizing her. The connection it forged was so powerful that Faerynrae thought she felt it draining out her sense of self. Without a trace of hesitation or remorse, it rummaged through her soul, his eyes searching hers for something. The flames of wisdom burned there — a fire of passion, vengeance, and rebellion. The storm faded into the background. For a moment, all she could acknowledge was the iron will he'd used to trap her.

"If I told you that it would require you to sacrifice your life, would you still fight?"

Faerynrae didn't hesitate even for a moment.

 _Yes_ , she swore silently to him and meant it with every fiber of her being. She meant it like she'd never meant any other oath or promise in her life. The fire in his gaze cooled, the intensity releasing her. His free hand reached out and caught at her wounded one. She flinched and bit her lip at the pain. He gave a gentle tug, caught her against him, and held her there.

"You understand my role in this? That I gave the orb to this creature?"

She nodded against his chest.

"And you would still fight beside me, even though it may mean giving up your life?"

Again, she nodded.

"You are a rare and strange person," he paused, "Faerynrae."

Faerynrae was used to being the tallest in her Clan, even among the young men. However, Solas stood at least a head taller than her, his figure at odds with what she was used to seeing among her kind. He was lean and thin, but she could not deny the strength in his arms and broad shoulders. His hands were elegant — long-fingered and warm — but were rough, too, accustomed to gripping a staff or even the hilt of a sword. She stood awkwardly in his embrace, her thoughts racing. Behind and above them, the storm pulled up more and more pieces of the world around them only to devour them in its huge jaws. The creature still roared, his enmity seeming to feed the chaos.

"What do we do now?" she asked Solas.

"When I give the signal, we must run to the top of the stairs and enter the grand chambers on the third floor. The Veil is weak there, though a great host of demons blocks it."

Faerynrae tensed. Demons? A great host? She shuddered again, from apprehension this time. "I'm prepared to face what comes," she nodded. For a moment, she thought his arms tightened around her but couldn't be sure.

"Come," he said, slipping back and away. He took her uninjured hand in his own, his expression betraying no emotion. "We must be swift. At the rift, I will instruct you on how to use the mark on your hand."

"The mark? What mark?" She inspected her crackling palm. "It's just a cut. A burn from the orb's magic."

"It is an anchor," he countered. "And it is the only thing that can give us an advantage in this realm." Without waiting for her to respond, he tugged on her and began climbing.


End file.
